


The Witch and The Hunter

by warqueenfuriosa (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses Bingo 2020, Medieval Fantasy, One Shot, Romance, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: She's the witch with a touch of death. He's the hunter, hellbent on hanging the witch and mounting her head on a spike.Instead, Logan finds himself submitting to Rogue's whisper of temptation. When neither one take the killing blow, what comes next?
Relationships: Logan/Rogue (X-Men)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	The Witch and The Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @kissesbingo2020 on tumblr. Square fill: graze of fingertips

The dark breathed around him, warm and stinging like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

Logan tensed, waiting for the inevitable blow. He adjusted his grip on his sword and held the torch higher. It did little to dispel the thick darkness, smooth as velvet. The creak of his leather jerkin seemed deafening in the close interior of the cave.

Then _she_ laughed. The sound echoed everywhere at once as if she were the shadows themselves, hemming him in.

Rogue, they called her. Rogue, the witch, with magic in her fingers that blackened everything she touched.

She clucked her tongue. “So jumpy. Afraid of the dark, hunter?”

“I’m not the one hiding,” Logan shot back.

“Oh,” Rogue cooed. “You want to play rough then? Challenge accepted.”

Fire hissed and spat. A dozen flames sparked to life, rising, rising, rising until they were six feet tall. 

Logan was surrounded. 

_Shit._

He tossed the torch aside and raised his sword with both hands, waiting for the witch’s attack. 

A footstep, barely audible. Another. 

Shadows shifted, parting like a curtain. Rogue emerged into the light, limning her cheekbones in gold and casting her eyes in shadow.

“Better?” she said.

“I’ll be happy when I stretch your neck with a noose.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. With a lazy flick of her wrist, the flames split apart. She entered the circle, black lace skirts swirling around her like a spill of ink in water. She came ever closer, well within striking distance. Taunting him. 

She knew she was powerful. Far more powerful than him. 

At last, she stopped. She looked young. Painfully, achingly young. Not the otherworldly beast so many had described. A chill rolled off of her, accompanied by the scent of musty perfume, reminiscent of roses, forgotten, wilted, dying. Moth-eaten lace lined her pale collarbones. Her lashes cast ghostly shadows against her cheeks when she gazed up at him.

Logan tightened his grip on his blade. She must be toying with his mind. Turning him soft when he needed to be sharp.

Slowly, she reached out and spider-walked two fingers up his chest. Goosebumps rippled down his spine.

“Allow me to let you in on a little secret, hunter,” she said.

Too close. She was too close but there was nowhere to go with fire at his back.

She leaned in, her icy breath ghosting the shell of his ear. The shifting, rustling fabric of her skirts tangled like black snakes around his ankles, slithering and cool. She was nearly pressed flush against him now in a crude parody of a lover’s embrace.

All he had to do was drive his blade through her heart. Pin her to the cave floor. Loop the rope around her throat and drag her to the nearest tree.

Why did he hesitate?

Logan’s gaze met hers. There was something in her eyes, a sadness, hollow and lonely, that he knew too well. He’d come here to hang the witch, to mount her head on a spike.

Instead, Logan submitted himself to her whisper.

“You can’t decide,” she said, “whether you want to kill me or kiss me.”

Rogue drew back, flames silhouetting her figure. Something shifted in her demeanor, as if…

As if she was tired of the chase. She didn’t want to run anymore. The goading, the willing closeness when she had always remained so far out of reach, too distant to touch.

Logan’s gaze wandered down to her mouth, to that knowing smile.

“You _let_ me catch you,” he said.

Rogue grazed her fingertips along his collar, dangerously close to his skin.

They were within a hair’s breadth of killing each other. He could run her through. She could lay her bare hand to the smallest sliver of his exposed skin.

Neither one moved to end this game of cat and mouse they had found themselves in. The push and pull of hunter and hunted, witch and slayer.

Then she rose up on tiptoe and skimmed her lips against his in the merest breath of a kiss. Delicate as a butterfly’s wing. Of no more substance than a dandelion seed in the wind.

Logan waited for his heart to stop and his legs to buckle.

Nothing.

Nothing but the burn left behind by the witch’s kiss. A frigid, creeping burn like the crackle of frost on glass.

Rogue’s eyes slid open as she pulled back, studying him. Was that a hint of surprise in her gaze?

“How many men have you done that to?” Logan said.

Her spine stiffened.

“One, besides you,” she replied, defiant.

“I don’t believe that. Not when there are countless stories of a witch with the touch of poison.”

“ _Touch,_ hunter,” she hissed. “Not kiss.”

“What’s the difference?” he countered.

“I don’t _know_ ,” she spat. "It never mattered before."

Silence.

Her demeanor shifted. The earlier aloofness had dissipated, replaced by uncertainty. She couldn’t stop staring at him.

“I could tell you were different,” she said softly. “A big, brash man like you. Living by steel and slaughter.”

“What are you talking about?" Logan demanded.

“You did what no one else could. You survived me."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, lovelies! Feel free to leave a comment below or hit me up on tumblr @warqueenfuriosa-ao3!


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